He looked down and saw a beautiful little girl of about seven or eight who looked up at him and smiled. “Hello,” she said. “That was me playing “Clair de Lune” when you knocked. Did you like it?” Shock didn’t quite cover his reaction, but he was more than surprised. “I certainly did,” he said, completely enchanted. “That was beautiful, and one of my favorite piano pieces. Is your father at home?” “No, but Mr. Henry is here. My mommy is upstairs with my little brother.” “Who is it, Tara?” came a voice from behind her. “I don’t know, Mr. Henry. He wants to see my dad.” Judson glanced at the note Rawls had given him and read: “Telford Harrington, head of the Harrington clan. 10 John Brown Drive, Eagle Park. First exit off Route 340 will take you straight there.” The slim, older man approached and gazed up at him with a curious expression on his face. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Judson Philips, and I want to see Telford Harrington.” The man seemed even more perplexed.
